


spiderwebs and tangents

by fanfictiongreenirises



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [8]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Don't copy to another site, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mental Breakdown, i mean he acknowledges he was terrible sometimes before and he's trying to be better now?, no beta just coffee, so much crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: Bruce walks into his room to find a crying heap in his bed.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622032
Comments: 24
Kudos: 496





	spiderwebs and tangents

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Breakdown" square on my Batman Bingo card.
> 
> this is like,,, comfort no plot. the h/c version of pwp. this entire thing is built around the concept of dick having a breakdown and bruce attempting to comfort him. that's it that's the fic.
> 
> Disclaimer: judging by this fic, if I did own DC (which i do not) there'd be so much more hugging and emotions.

THIS FANFICTION IS HOSTED ON **ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN** , WHERE YOU CAN READ IT FOR **FREE**. IF YOU’RE READING THIS ON A DIFFERENT WEBSITE, IT WAS POSTED THERE **WITHOUT** THE AUTHOR’S CONSENT.

Bruce walked into his room to find his sheets mussed, wrapped and twisted until they formed a vague blob on his bed. Nothing bar a shock of black was visible, the sound of uneven breathing the only noise.

It wouldn’t be Tim, because he'd just seen Tim - and besides, Tim wasn't like that. He had to go and hunt down Tim to get him to open up about anything that'd affect him like this. 

That only left one person, someone Bruce had never expected to see come to _him_ for comfort. The fact that he did made Bruce more worried about the situation.

“Dick?” he said softly, trying to pull the sheets down.

Dick’s breathing got even _more_ uneven, if possible. Bruce succeeded in lowering the topmost blanket, but Dick clung on to the sheet, still scrunched up in a tight ball.

“Did something happen?” he asked. Had someone died, maybe?

Dick didn’t respond.

Bruce pondered his options. Obviously, leaving Dick here was out of the question. He wouldn’t have come to Bruce’s room if he hadn’t been, even subconsciously, seeking out comfort, and Bruce had made enough mistakes in the past to do better this time. A second, third, _fourth_ chance; he’d lost count of how many chances he’d been granted with this one.

He sat on the bed and ran his hands through Dick’s hair, lips thinning at the sweaty strands. He couldn’t even tell what Dick was wearing – was he in his police uniform? Had he come from the precinct, after some tragedy or another?

After a few seconds, when Dick didn’t show any signs of calming down, Bruce sighed. This was probably a more complex problem than most of the issues Dick had come to him with when he was still Robin, either quietly worming his way into Bruce’s arms and silently demanding a hug or hiding in a corner until Bruce (or rather, Alfred) realised he was missing and went to find him.

Should he pull Dick upright? Or wait him out? Bruce didn’t want to make things worse.

He exhaled, lifting his hand away to settle against the headboard, resigning himself for a long wait.

But Dick, the second his hand moved away, shot his head up, and Bruce finally got a glimpse of his face. Bright red eyes, panicked as they sought out Bruce, a red nose, and tear tracks.

“Not going anywhere,” Bruce reassured.

At his words, Dick’s face once again crumpled, and Bruce had a millisecond to wonder what he’d said wrong when he was hit with a full-body attack that left Dick’s face smashed into his shoulder, arms wrapped around Bruce’s chest. Bruce grunted a little at the force, his own grip instinctively going around Dick’s middle as he did his best to keep the two of them from falling off the side of the bed.

It wasn’t a comfortable position for either of them – Dick’s body was twisted at an awkward angle, and Bruce’s left leg was straining from trying to keep them upright and on the bed.

Dick was muttering something, sounding almost feverish. “’m sorry, I’m sorry, ‘m sorry…” he was gasping.

Bruce’s brow furrowed and he subtly lifted a hand to Dick’s forehead to check his temperature. It felt a little warm, but he’d just been under covers in the middle of an already warm day.

He shushed Dick gently, hand resuming its rubbing on his back. “What’s happened?” he asked again.

Dick shook his head against Bruce’s neck. If Bruce had been less experienced with gross bodily fluids, he may have shied away from what was undoubtedly a combination of tears and runny nose.

“’S nothing,” he mumbled, but his words were emphasised by another round of trembling and loud sniffles as he tried to compose himself.

“I doubt that,” Bruce said. “It’s clearly something.”

Dick clung tighter. Bruce, at the start of a cramp in his thigh, grabbed Dick more securely and hoisted him up to the centre of the bed, climbing in himself and sitting cross legged. Dick was too big now to curl in Bruce’s lap like he used to as a kid, back when he spilled his problems the second he was given a hug. Instead, he settled beside Bruce – or rather, _Bruce_ settled him there – and resumed his former position of uncomfortable contortion of body as he refused to let go of his choking grip around Bruce’s neck.

Bruce tried approaching this another way. “What do you need?” he asked.

It seemed like no matter what he said, the result would always be more forceful sobbing. “I don’t know,” Dick rasped. “It’s… everything’s gone wrong and I can’t… I don’t know how to _fix_ it, and I can’t tell you because… because…”

He broke off to quieter mumbling that Bruce couldn’t make out. “Dick,” he finally said. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He wanted to tell him _you can tell me anything_ and _there’s nothing so bad it can’t be fixed_ , but he didn’t know how to say it.

“… he’d be disappointed…” Bruce caught from Dick’s semi-coherent words.

“Who’d be disappointed, Dick?” he asked, jostling the still shaking figure in his arms.

“Bruce,” Dick whispered.

“I’m right here, Dick.” The words were out of Bruce’s mouth before he realised that Dick hadn’t been asking for him – he’d answered his question. There was a twinge in his gut at two things: the fact that there was clearly something in Dick’s system, whether that was a drug or an virus, and he needed to take a blood sample; and the knowledge that this breakdown was partially caused by Dick being unable to tell him something because he thought Bruce would be disappointed.

It was his own fault, he knew, even as he reached over to grab his phone and text Alfred.

“You could never disappoint me,” Bruce murmured. He hadn’t been keeping up with Nightwing’s escapades as closely as he should’ve been – Batman had been busy lately – and now he wondered whether that was where answers lay.

Dick tensed even more in his arms. “You don’t know what happened.”

 _Tell me_ , Bruce wanted to say. But he couldn’t; Dick was obviously in no state to be sharing anything, especially if there was something external influencing his mood.

“Sir?” Alfred’s voice came from the doorway, growing rapidly alarmed as he took in the scene before him. “I didn’t even notice him coming in…” he said quietly, walking forward and placing the kit he had in his arms on a small sidetable.

“I found him here, like this,” Bruce told him, voice betraying his worry. “I think he’s hallucinating.”

Alfred had a syringe and cotton bud ready. He gave Bruce a meaningful look; Bruce shifted Dick so his arm was more accessible, removing his own hand to push up Dick’s sleeve.

The second he did so, Dick flung himself back like he’d been electrocuted, giving Bruce a look of absolute hurt and betrayal that, despite knowing it wasn’t aimed at _him_ in the present, still made Bruce feel like he’d been punched in the gut.

“It’s okay, Dick,” he tried to reassure him. “It’s just Alfred. We’re going to take a sample of your blood.”

Dick was holding himself terrifyingly still, save for the shaking that was wracking his body and the uneven rise of his chest. He didn’t even seem to see Alfred; he looked at Bruce with a resigned fear that turned Bruce’s stomach.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, "the quicker we get the blood sample, the quicker we can create an antidote.”

It was easy for _him_ to say, Bruce thought distantly. He wasn’t the one who Dick looked at like _that_.

Dick, chum, I’m not going to hurt you, alright?” Bruce said as he moved towards him. “I’m not disappointed in you. I know you; you did your best. You always do.” Dick hadn’t moved a muscle, but Alfred had gone round to the foot of the bed. “I’m going to hold onto your arm. It’ll hurt for just a moment, but then we’ll give you the antidote and you’ll feel better—”

The needle went in, and Alfred moved swiftly to draw out blood, but it was only the tiniest of amounts before Dick whipped his arm away, tumbling off the bed in his haste and rolling in a backward somersault to break his fall.

“Stay with him, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, hurrying towards the kit.

Bruce grabbed the cotton balls and ran over to where Dick had ended up, deep inside the closet.

“Dick?”

The mumbling had started up again. “ _’M sorry, ‘m sorry…_ ”

Dick was curled into a tiny ball, hidden behind the rows of slacks. Bruce had a vivid sense of déjà vu at the sight; he’d been fond of small spaces as a child, too – Bruce had lost track of the number of times Dick had gotten himself somewhere no one but Batman would’ve ever found him.

Bruce climbed in after him, broad shoulders making the task much harder. “Dickie, I’m here,” he said helplessly, hoping Alfred and Tim would be able to synthesise an antidote fast. “I’m going to stem the bleeding, okay?”

He didn’t know if Dick understood what he’d said, but he held still as Bruce used the meagre light coming in through the door to the wardrobe to locate the source of the blood and hold a cotton ball to it.

Bruce had barely shifted his legs under him so they wouldn’t fall asleep before Dick was tipping forward into his lap, using him like a pillow even as his fingers tightened in Bruce’s shirt.

“I know you hate excuses,” Dick was saying, voice high and fluctuating, “but I’ll do better next time. I just... B, don’t…”

Bruce was growing rather alarmed now, because it seemed almost as though Dick was reliving memories rather than having a fever dream. And he couldn’t think of what event could have possibly brought forward turmoil like _this_.

There was nothing to do but stroke his hair and rub his arm until Dick was asleep, breathing finally evening out. Even in his sleep, he looked exhausted; what had he even been doing this last month? Bruce had a finger on his wrist, monitoring his pulse to make sure he truly was asleep and not unconscious.

Bruce hated not knowing, not being able to help. This distance between him and Dick, the distance he’d helped create, left a sour taste in his mouth. When Dick woke, when he was actually coherent, they would talk. Bruce would fix whatever was broken between them. He’d do better this time.

**Author's Note:**

> i did loosely base some of the stuff dick says in this off of Nightwing (1996) #96 (the exact panels are [here](https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/post/611905597462495232/nightwing-1996-96)), but i don't consider this to be an aftermath fic or anything (i plan to write a proper response to the whole tarantula mess at some point and this rly isn't it) - the timing of this fic i consider to be ambiguous due to the nature of the fake drug dick maybe has.
> 
> this could take place either during the time tim was robin, after nightwing #96. this could also take place while damian is robin, and with dick hallucinating events that were particularly shitty. it's really up to you as to how you see it - i originally intended for it to be written specifically mentioning the rest of the kids and then cut that part out.
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading!! my bingo card is [here](https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/bingo) if you wanted to request a square, and i'm always up for a chat on [tumblr](https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/)!


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